Voyeur
by hollygofightly
Summary: When Richard shows up on her doorstep late one night, Angela decides to show him a side of herself that he has never seen before. Rated M for sexual content.


He never did like to intrude, but he did have an uncanny ability to show up when she was alone and emotionally vulnerable. He had a way about him; his was a calming presence over the disarmingly anxious beach house, and she came to hope with each knock or ring of the bell that she would find his broken visage on her threshold.

It was late, quite late, and as usual Jimmy's whereabouts were a mystery. She supposed he could be with his mother, the constant challenge for his affections—didn't she know that Angela had surrendered ages ago? Tommy was tucked safely in his bed, ever the heavy sleeper, and now she sat alone at the table, sipping chianti and waiting for Louise to arrive.

The knock at the door made her heart race. Her skin blossomed at the merest suggestion of a woman's touch, and she hurried to the door. But it was Richard, shoulders hunched forward and head slightly bowed, who stood before her now.

"Richard. It's late." She bunched the fabric of her robe over her breasts in startled modesty.

"I'm here. For Jimmy."

She sighed, unsurprised by the turn of events. "He's not here," she said, the scene all too familiar as she stepped aside and gestured for his entry. "Won't you come in?"

He hummed in response and stepped inside, observing the room with the eyes of a stranger, though he'd spent nearly as much time within the house's walls as she. They lingered in the foyer for longer than necessary before she led him to the table and took a seat.

"Can I pour you a glass?" She gestured to the open bottle, but he shook his head. She refilled her glass and took a self-conscious sip, aware as ever of his eye on her.

"Do you. Often. Drink alone?"

She shook her head slowly, amused by his assumption. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Jimmy?"

"My friend, Louise. She should be here any moment now."

"Should I. Go?"

Perhaps he should, but suddenly the last thing she wanted was to let him go. "No," she said softly, the warmth of the vine lending a seductive huskiness to her voice. "I'd like for you to stay."

He nodded curtly, looking away. She could just see the top of his cap as he twisted it in nervous circles in his trembling hands. She had hoped that his anxiety around her might have been alleviated that fateful afternoon, when he sat for hours so unselfconsciously under the scrutiny of her pencil and brush and told her of his lost love. But any temerity it might have inspired in him dissipated the moment she laid down her tools and shared the fruits of their labor. She worried at the time that yet another reminder of his ever-present reality would offend him, but he had offered to pay to keep it, all the same. Jimmy was right; he was impossible to read.

"I have to tell you something," she said suddenly, her Catholic guilt urging her to confess. "But I don't want you to think any differently of me."

"You can. Tell me.."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the knot of pre-catharsis. "Louise is…my lover."

"What. Do you mean?"

She shrugged, willing him to understand without further explanation. He simply stared back, devoid of comprehension.

"She does things for me that Jimmy can't do." That familiar swell of desire began to build at the thought of Louise's lips on her skin. "She makes me feel things that no one else can."

A spark of understanding flashed behind his eye. "But you. Love each other."

"That isn't always enough."

"How long. Have you…"

He needn't finish the question. "I've only known Louise for a little over a month. Before that, I had Mary. I met her while Jimmy was in the war. She kept me alive."

"You must. Have been lonely."

"That was only a part of it."

A soft knock drew their attentions to the door. Angela rose in one graceful motion and returned with the gamine Louise in tow. Introductions were made, and Richard tensed at the stranger's touch.

"We don't have much time," Angela breathed into her lover's ear, pulling her hand to lead her away.

"What, Is your friend here gonna stay and watch?"

Angela thought for a moment, studying the bashful man seated at her table. "Would you like to?"

It took him a moment, but he lifted himself from his chair and followed the women to the bedroom.

* * *

"Sit. Both of you."

Richard sat straight-backed in the farthest chair; Louise pulled hers close to the bed and leaned back seductively.

Angela took a seat on the edge of the bed, a milky shoulder exposed as her robe wilted around her. "Richard," she cooed, "have you ever watched a woman pleasure herself?"

His cheek burned scarlet, in stark contrast with the constant pallor of his mask. "No," he said quickly.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yeah," Louise chimed in. "Everyone does it."

"Not. Everyone."

Angela smiled, touched by his naivety. "I'd like to show you what my nights were like when Jimmy left. Before Mary came along."

He stared at her, brow knotted in concern, as she let the robe drop onto the bed. She ran her hands over her thighs, titillated by the jolt of nervousness his presence cast upon her.

"You could come closer," she whispered.

"No." He shifted his erection in his trousers and looked towards his feet, but the sight of her legs parting beckoned his gaze back to the raven-haired vision before him. Her fingertips dotted her inner thighs before finding the delicate folds that called out to be touched. Her eyes stayed fixed on him.

Three eyes watched as she drew the pleasure out from her very core, two bodies warm with desire for her. Her fingers moved in tiny circles, their pace quickening as her left hand traced the line of her torso to cup her breast. She tossed her head back in open-mouthed satisfaction.

As her breathing quickened, Louise could take it no longer, and she pounced on the lithe Italian girl, teeth-bared in a sly smile. She nipped Angela's lip first, then plunged between her milky legs to caress her with her skilled mouth. Angela gasped, her eyes fluttering open and shut with each undulation of her lover's tongue; each time they remerged, they were trained on Richard, willing him to feel the unbridled passion coursed from Louise's eager lips through every inch of her until it came bursting in a spasm of animalistic squeals, Angela's fingers entwined in her lover's hair.

When her eyes reopened, she was shocked to see him seated, stock still as before, the fabric of his trousers pulled tight over the screaming bulge between his legs. She couldn't help wondering what it might feel like, its girth clearly beyond Jimmy's, and her mind raced with visions of climbing atop him, releasing him from his tweed prison and enveloping his untested manhood in her feminine wiles. The fantasy was so consuming that she considered pushing Louise aside to find out for herself if her expectations could be met.

The anguish in Richard's eye stopped her cold—his lip quivered in grotesque spasms, his eye pulsed with suppressed tears. He loved her, she was well aware, but not like this. He was not enjoying this game of hers, and she cursed her selfishness for prolonging it. She longed to throw herself into his arms, to swear that his innocence was beautiful and that she loved him as he was. His pain was hers, and she longed to make it stop.

She flew from the bed, pulling her robe snug across her bare chest, and rushed from the room. Louise followed, a chorus of confused protests. Even as she escorted her ill-humored lover to the door, her mind stayed with the mysterious man in her bedroom, in so many ways both man and little boy. Louise, Jimmy—they couldn't possibly understand. Her love for him was too pure for them to comprehend.

When she returned, he stirred as if to stand. "I'm sorry," she sighed, before he could flee from her presence. "I didn't mean—"

"It's. All right."

"Will you stay here tonight?"

He nodded, the safety of his watchful eye enough to coax her to sleep.

* * *

When she awoke, he was still seated stiffly in the chair, his mask cutting what remained of the flesh on his cheek where his face rested against the wall. Angela pulled herself out of bed in semi-darkness, crossing the room to her sentry's seat and climbing, like a child, into his waiting lap.

She could feel his breathing quicken and she nestled into his chest, resting her cheek on his shoulder and staring into space. Neither could tell what the future would hold, when Jimmy would decide between the two worlds he straddled with increasing difficulty. Angela wondered, with her knees tucked up to her chin and the labored breathing of her protector against her ear, whether she would still be waiting when he made up his mind.

He loved her; she believed that. Richard loved her, too, and while Jimmy's love carried the forceful insistence of a hunter on the prowl, Richard's was a yearning, an emptiness begging to be filled, a mutual loneliness that longed for company. He asked nothing of her but acceptance, and gave so much of himself in return.

She curled a tiny hand around the cold tin and pulled his face towards her lips, breathing in the scent of him as she pressed a tender kiss on his good cheek, translating a world of unspoken emotion in one simple gesture. A hum escaped his throat, and he held her tighter.


End file.
